When Worlds Collide
by switmikan74
Summary: "If you don't love England much," America said quietly, with a quiver, yet awfully honest and desperate and in love, "Can I take your place?"
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** When Worlds Collide

 **Pairing:** USUK

 **Summary:** "If you don't love England much," America said quietly, with a quiver, yet awfully honest and desperate and in love, "Can I take your place?"

 **Note:** Angst. Angst everywhere.

X

 _2054, World A_

He should have loved him right when he had the chance.

This was not a new thought for America and for the past decades or so, this had been a constant company. That deep-seated sourness of regret. It gnaws on him, scratches his skin, and positively makes him blue all the time he thought of his woes.

He should have loved England right when the man still loves him too. And maybe it would have been different—it would have been a big love affair, just the two of them against the whole wide world and everybody would have been jealous because they won't ever experience the same thing that was between them. It would have been perfect.

But he did not.

So, he sat at the head of the table, pretending to listen to whatever Germany is saying. It's been decades but he still lets his blue eyes stray where the British nation was.

And it's all the same thing, the same way it was since thirty years prior, the same England and Japan and their big love affair that everybody is jealous of and still no America in it.

England stared at Japan with the gentleness only love could muster.

And by God, how America wishes England would love him again.

He knew he should have loved him right when he had the chance.

X

He hesitated, fingers wrapping tightly around the hot cup of tea, feet shuffling from left to right. He was in front of England's door and he hears talking inside, almost like soft sweet nothings and lullabies.

Against his better judgment, he knocks, a light rapping that silent the murmurs inside.

He met green eyes when the door opens. They widen for a bit before they settle into a familiar politeness that never had set well with him. It throws him back to the time when he asked why he was being polite to him and the Brit merely answered that charming darling Japan wished him so.

He thinks it was bullshit. Well, he also thinks their relationship is bullshit. Most of all, America thinks he, himself, is the shittiest bull of the world.

"America," England said, surprised, and a little bit guarded. His shoulders slump in the tone the Brit used. Cool. Detached. And not at all in love. "What are you doing here?"

 _Because…_

"I brought you tea." He presents the tea like a man presenting a rose. His palms are burnt by the hotness of the surface but he ignored it, delighting in the fact that the mere gift lit the peridots of the man in front of him. England took it carefully from him and for a second, their hands touch and it's the little thing that he treasured most.

Pathetic.

 _Just because…_

"Oh? Thank you? Why?"

 _Just because I still…_

"I just want to." He laughs weakly, turning around in haste, and running down the hall he came from. Missing the way England frowned knowingly. He doesn't look back until he heard the closing of door. A glance was thrown to the schism between them and it's as if all the memories were painted on them, especially the bad ones that remind him of why there's a division in the first place.

 _I…_

The walls of the hotel are gray, much like his mood, and they don't do much to uplift his spirit, just bring him down more. Gray is the color of the ashes that represents the love England had offered. Just hopelessly, irrevocably, miserably gone. And he was the fire that burns it so, childishly so, unkindly so, tragically so.

"America?"

He doesn't move from his position even as Tony put a hand on his head. He sat leaning on the door, head buried on his arms that hugged his knees to his chest. He felt the rapid thump-thump of his heart, felt it twist, felt it break.

And then he let his tears free.

It had been way too long since he last cried, a month maybe. It felt good, felt right somehow. He felt naked, felt broken, felt wretched all in the same time. But it wasn't enough to let a sob out, he kept it in, kept it quiet lest he wanted to be dubbed weak.

"You went to the bastard, didn't ya? Fuckin' idiot." The accusation was pungent with a bitter tang. It rang so tauntingly within the silent walls that it might as well echoed throughout the hotel.

"I miss… him." He said with a cracking tone, "It's been months since I talk to him, you know, Tony? And I thought it will be okay—I will be okay. But I love him so much. Still. Forever so. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts."

What he want to say, what he want to articulate simply is that even now he is still _not_ okay. Not yet. Maybe, not ever. And oh God, why did he let him go?

"I'm so tired, Tony… so tired…" He says in a ruined mess, "I just want to… have England again, is that so bad?"

He mumbles on in broken sentences, in sad paragraphs, in unfinished chapters about how much he loves and needs and wants England still, about how he wishes he didn't took him for granted, about how he longs for the Brit's touches, about how he wishes it was him England still love, about the many regrets that accumulated over the many years that pass since England stop loving him.

And he goes on for many minutes, for many hours. Tony doesn't say anything because he was used to nights like this one, only with much sobbing and breaking things and lots and lots of sad love songs blaring from the American's playlist.

The alien sighed quietly when the rush murmurs quieten into a sigh of sleep. He picked his friend up and put him to bed, patting his head gently albeit awkwardly. It had been a long time since he saw him happy, way, way too long.

"Fuckin' Americans. Fuckin' limey bastards. Fuckin' love."

He frowned before giving into the humanized part of the organ that kept him alive and decided that it was just about time that America should be happy again.

X

 _2016, World B_

America woke up with a start as he found himself facing the bright blue sky. He was lying on the cold hard stone of a rooftop he knew all too well. For a minute, he thought it not strange, sleep-muddled, he rolled to his side to block the persistent light. But when the concrete becomes unbearably hot, he immediately sat up with a yelp.

"Wha…?" He said, rubbing the sleep away from his system. The surrounding was unbelievably familiar that it did not cause him to panic much. The rooftop he was in was a beautiful garden that offers shade but unfortunately he was placed far from such trees and more likely in the very middle.

He was in the old conference building in Paris they had not used for two decades now.

"What am I doing here?" America scratched his head in confusion before letting his hand fall to his thigh and that's when he noticed a simple note written messily attached to said limb. Tony's handwriting.

 _America,_

 _I cannot send you to the past to correct your errors. But you are somewhere in a world with much closer history like yours. Make the right choices._

 _-Tony_

He should have been panicking by now or even furious at the alien for making such rush decision. Even worried. But to be in love for so long, to be deeply in regret for such period, one is bound to search for hope that maybe, one day, somehow, it will get better. Perhaps, it was that thought that calmed him down most—the hope shadowing the panic and confusion.

"Alternate universe, huh?" America sighed with a smile, the tired look he now wore fading from his face, a bubble of hope popping in his chest minutely with the new information.

His fellow nations had once noticed the change in his attitude one day and told him he felt more mature than ever before, more adult-like and it's the most pleasant change. France had asked why the sudden change and he only answered that it was about time.

But truthfully, he wanted to reply to him that he hated his childish persona, the one that had let himself lose someone irreplaceable. Honestly, when someone broke your heart, you get a little bit mature for each piece that shattered. He guessed it was for the best.

So being informed to such sudden travel, he wasn't the least bit immature—he might go so far to be quite grateful. Really grateful.

America crumpled the note in his hand and stood up.

It was amazing how much the building was alike that of his home world, he observed as he climbed down the rooftop and into the inside of the building. Everything about it was identical, even its warm atmosphere that he thought that Tony was just messing with him. He looks around the same hallway of the 28th floor they usually held the conference.

It was the same thing, too alike it's both nostalgic and uncanny.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear the call of his human name until he was tapped by the shoulder gently and he was forced out of his musings.

"Alfred-kun." He turns to see Japan waving at him with a small smile and his eyes automatically strayed to his right where England was usually at. Empty.

"Where's England?" America asked guardedly, the bitter feeling towards the Japanese nation rise up his throat and out of his tongue. Japan slightly frowned at the tone of his voice but replied anyway, "I'm not sure where Arthur-san is, Alfred-kun. I thought he was searching for you."

"For me?" He perked up, surprised. Japan tilts his head, "Hai. He said he prepared a lunch? I think it's for you."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Did he cook you lunch?" It was spite, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Japan shook his head, "I believe it's specifically just for you."

"Aren't you his lover?" A forward question that caught the slight man off guard, red rising to his cheeks while he profusely shakes his head, "What are you talking about? We're just friends, Alfred-kun."

The building was a familiar little thing, even the warmth it gives off was the same atmosphere he had felt when they had used this for every time they met in Paris, and for a moment he thought Tony was messing with him. But if Japan and England weren't together, then Tony is the most awesome friend in the universe.

"Oh. I… uh… I gotta go find England." America said with a sense of finality, a grin breaking so widely in his face, running past the confused flustered man. It wasn't long before he heard shouting inside the room they held their meetings.

It was England.

"What did you say?" It was an angry snarl accommodated by a blazing green. Arthur was beyond mad at this point but Alfred merely flicks a wrist, unperturbed by the sudden change of the older man's tone like he had been subjected to it too many times before that he had grown immune.

He was about to enter when he heard another voice. Himself. And it was full of harsh amusement that he wanted to punch himself. Such a cruel man, that he is.

"Like feeer reals, Iggs." Alfred started casually with a roll of his eyes, "Don'cha think you're being unreasonable?"

 _Stop. Stop saying that to him._

"Me? Unreasonable?" Arthur sounded mockingly surprise for a minute before he took an angry cat disposition once more, "You're the one being unreasonable! You're being a stupid good-for-nothing insolent little child with a penchant of ruining things. You are being… you know what. Fuck it. Fuck you. I don't bloody need this. I don't bloody need _any_ of this, especially your offensive running commentary about how awful my food is even though it is not. Next time, I'm not making you any, you stupid ungrateful twat."

 _No. Please. Don't do that. I want you to still cook for me. Please. Please. Please._

"See what I mean?" Alfred preened at the surrender, "I just didn't eat your poisonous lunch and you flip out on me. You're being unreasonable."

 _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

"Shut up." Arthur winces at the insult, a hurt look flashing his face.

"Just the smell is enough to kill you."

 _Shut up. Shut up. You don't mean that, stupid. Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up._

"I said shut up."

"And if you get pass the smell, the look would do you good and dig you a grave." Alfred continued rapidly, not noticing the dejection clear in the emeralds of his former caretaker, "I mean who would want to eat such dangerous things?"

 _I would. Forever and ever and ever. I would._

"I would."

The identical voice of Alfred slices through the thickening atmosphere in the almost empty conference room. It was enough to cut Alfred's tyrant rumbling, enough to make Arthur turn around and take a double look, enough to stun the two into a wordless stupor.

America stops, feeling the sudden eyes on him. He didn't mean to say that out loud. But England's eyes are on him, staring at him with such emotions he did not direct on him anymore—a mixture of so many feelings, blazing, burning, and far from such fake politeness he exhibits towards him for years. He fully opened the door and stepped in, longingly staring at the British nation.

"What…?"

America smiled at Arthur. Something about the smile made the Brit want to embrace the man tightly and tell him reassuring words that would make him stop smiling like that. And he almost does, except he was frozen and confused and still hurt from the previous commentary so he doesn't move an inch.

"WHOA! You! You look like me!" It was Alfred who composed himself first, finding it hard to do so but trying the best he can. The doppelganger ignored him, walking calmly towards the table that Alfred had abandoned, reaching for the burnt scones within the Tupperware, and biting.

America couldn't help but smile at the tastelessness of it. He took another bite and then another and when the first one is gone, he took another and another and another until there was none left. He consumed them all like a starved man eating for the first time in years because they were the taste he couldn't eat anymore and he missed it, missed them stuffing his throat so drily. It was England's cooking, after all, and he loved it to bits.

Arthur stared blankly at the consumption of his scones in disbelief.

"It's perfect, England. It's just the way I liked it. Thank you for the meal."

"Hey! Don't ignore the hero! You look so much like me. Are you Matthew playing a trick again?" Alfred stomped his feet, feeling unimportant for being ignored. Blue eyes look at him. It was so identical, all the specks and all the hues, yet so strangely different, more mature, more jaded, much more than him.

"Who are you?" Arthur finally found his voice because it couldn't have been the sweet Canadian standing in front of them, the eyes are too blue to be his, "How did you get here?"

America merely smiled more before all too suddenly the water broke from the man's eyes and they flow solidly down sickly pale cheeks, a much lighter color than Alfred's sun-kissed one.

And all too suddenly, he was wrapped up in America's arms and he can hear the man's thump-thump beating, hear it in broken vowels, in damaged letters, hear it like it had been broken for far too long, his heart.

But Arthur dismisses this. For all he knows, he's just romanticizing things again. He was quite known to be the poet, after all. And yet, there was nothing in the world that can describe the man's racing heartbeat anything other than ruined.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, England. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you. I love you."

The warmth left him quickly as Alfred yanked him from the tight grip with an indignant protest, pushing the man away. Arthur stared quietly at the bawling man and hears him repeat himself over and over again. And something about his words felt so sincere, so desperate, so utterly devastated that he doesn't register his own tears falling, sympathetic.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, England. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you. I love you."

TBC…

So, basically, Tony sent America to a different world which is pretty much the same one as theirs, with the same turn of events, only that he was back to the day in which he began making bad choices one after the other until England had gotten so fed up.

The scenario is like a dating game in which you make choices. America of World A made wrong choices and Alfred of World B is like the reset of the game and he was just about to make those choices.

And I'm a twisted author with a penchant for sad little things.

Oh, and please review. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** When Worlds Collide

 **Pairing:** USUK

 **Summary:** "If you don't love England much," America said quietly, with a quiver, yet awfully honest and desperate and in love, "Can I take your place?"

 **Note:** Angst. Angst everywhere.

X

 _2016, World B_

Arthur covered his mouth with both his hands, tears falling helplessly from his green eyes. He heard a sobbing sound but he wasn't sure if it was from him or the Alfred-look-alike, they were so muddled, so murmured, so heaving that the sound became so indistinguishable in his ears.

Without his thinking, he steps out of Alfred's tight hold, leaning towards the crying blonde's direction and he knew he would have hugged him if it weren't for Alfred's quick arms pulling him back again.

Alfred's voice was unclear to his ears too. He thinks he's saying something about dangerous and being a hero and saving him. But they just don't register in his mind. It's fully occupied by the sad man bawling in front of him.

He wanted to embrace him so very much. He looks like he needed one. Like how Arthur needed it as much.

He slaps Alfred's arms away from him, closing the distance quickly between himself and the doppelganger.

"Who are you?" He said softly when he kneeled in front, his voice was quiet in fear that if he speaks louder, it would break as well. He hated breaking but something about the man just pulled on his heartstring and he couldn't pinpoint why.

"England." America said, "England. It's been so long, so, so long."

The American reaches out and Arthur flinches as an automatic response but the man in front of him, foregoing from burying his face on his arms, cradles his cheeks with such warmth, such tenderness.

And it's been so long since someone exhibited that same affection towards him that the mere touch made him craved for more.

"It's been so long since you look at me that way." He paints a smile not nearly as bright as the flickering lights Arthur once saw in the poorer part of an English town, "I miss you. God, I miss you so much. I miss you and the way you look at me and your touches and your voice. I miss you. I miss you so, so much."

"What do you mean?" Fingers brush away his own tears gently, nimbly tracing the contours of his face, stopping when he closes his eyes briefly, "Who exactly are you, love?"

But America doesn't answer him directly. Instead, the man continued to babble on until he was out breath and breathing heavy. The American spoke of desperation and fondness and lovesickness and regrets. All of the things that Arthur think of every night.

And he doesn't stop until Arthur wraps him up in his arms as tight as he could, hushing the broken man. Something about the eyes of this America seems utterly lost.

"He's asleep." Arthur almost forgot Alfred but he doesn't pull away, cradling the man gently in his arms as if he was a babe. Arthur swallowed as he meets Alfred's eyes, the blue in them darker than they should have been.

"Let's get him into bed." He suggested. Alfred gaped at him, incredulity showing in his irises, "Are you kidding me, Artie?! He could be dangerous for all we know!"

"But we know nothing about him. So bloody belt up and help me with me. Or so help me God!" Arthur snapped, glaring at the American who frowned at him with annoyance. Alfred rolled his eyes at him but made no move in helping. "Alfred!"

"Geez! Alright, alright, damn old man!"

X

 _2054, World A_

The sudden opening of the doors silences the arguing occupants. They all turn to see the disheveled form of a worried Canadian panting on his knees.

"America." He said in a panicked voice, "America is missing."

"What?"

"I searched everywhere… He's not in his room. He's not back home in his country. He's not here anywhere near the vicinity. He's missing. Nobody tells me that he is not because this is the fucking seventh day that we did not see him!"

A tea cup falls from dainty hand and shattered.

X

 _2016, World B_

America woke up with a splitting headache on a bed. The scenery this time wasn't familiar but he knows that it should be. The whiteness of the wall could be mistaken to be that in the hospital but the lack of medical stench proved him to be wrong.

"You're awake." He jolts at the voice. British. America immediately turns to face the owner. It was really England, with his English thick eyebrows and English green eyes and English accent and English everything. It's like back home.

But this is not his home. The rather big presence of his counterpart in this world tramples down his belief that maybe the thirty or so years he had were merely a sick dream and England still loves him. But no, Alfred's presence in the room reminds him why Tony sent him here in the first place.

Everything about him breaking England's heart back home was true, the little pathetic shit that he was. Who in their right mind would break the heart of someone they love? Fools like him, it seems.

"Before you go all sentimental on Artie, who the hell are you dude? And how the fuck did you get here? And why are you impersonating me?"

America rolled to his side that faced away from the two before answering Alfred with a different question, "Do you love England?"

Arthur and Alfred both sputtered, suddenly very aware of their close proximity. Alfred was the first to jump in to denial, "What the hell are you talking about? In love? With Eyebrows? Ew! No way! I don't have some sick fetish to old man like him!"

Arthur stared at Alfred before looking away, "Of course I don't bloody love him. Look at him! He's fat!"

"I am not fat!"

"Of course you are! You eat all those hamburgers and junk food, do you think I don't see you putting those weights on, idiot!"

America gave a laugh, one that distracted the two from insulting each other further. America had long given up facing away, the two look entertaining, it was nostalgic. But he can't help from flinching at the words used by the America of this world.

"Must you be cruel?" He asked Alfred as he sat on his bed, "I only asked a question answerable by a yes or a no. Do you love him?"

"What the hell, man! Not cool." Alfred felt a hotness crept up on his cheeks and he hoped to every Almighty that Arthur wouldn't take notice. America clucked his tongue, "Well, do you love England, Alfred?"

"Hey! I didn't give you permission to use my human name!" America looked at him calmly without much changing his position or expression, he just sighed, look at Arthur for a moment before looking at Alfred again, "Do you love England?"

"Why are you so persistent with—"

"Do you love England?"

"NO! There, you have a fucking answer! I don't love Arthur and I never would!"

"Really, Alfred?"

Alfred slowly faces Arthur who looked blankly at him. That's when he realized what he had said and he stuttered, "I mean… yeah… no… um…"

"I need some air. If that doppelganger of yours talks about who he is, tell me." Arthur hightailed away, slamming the door as he did so.

"You love him, don't you?" America spoke again and Alfred glared heatedly at him, "What the hell, dude! You made me piss Artie off."

"Tell me, Alfred of this world," America cupped a hand on his cheek, looking calculating and world-weary, "How do you wake up and tell yourself you don't love England of this world when you do? Do you make it as your daily breakfast? These denials? It must be the reason why you're growing fat, all this swallowing of lies."

America stood from his bed, the headache now a dull throb, bearable. He pushses pass the frozen man, walking quickly towards the door but before he fully opens it Alfred spun and snarled at him, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to chase England of this world." He said quietly, "Your England still loves you very much. I can see it in his eyes. But I'm you too. Just from a different world. But the essential part is that I'm you. And that means England technically loves me too. That's why I… I'm going to chase England."

He left Alfred staring at the closed door in the empty hotel bed that might belong to either of the two. Probably Alfred's.

X

He found Arthur sitting outside the hotel in the garden out front. Arthur was looking up the sky with a blank expression, eyes almost empty, it's scary. He had seen that familiar look far too many times.

Alfred must have not known but that is Arthur's hurt expression—the blankness of it tells you how much you hurt him so. He wouldn't wear it if he wasn't affected so much.

"England."

"Why do you call me England, doppelganger? It's not war time. We don't call each other that name when there are no wars to be fought in." Arthur replied to his call without moving, he moves his arm to cover his face and America wonders if he was crying.

"How do you know it wasn't your America?" He asked. Arthur let out a humorless chuckle, "Alfred wouldn't chase me, lad. So, it's either you're a bad impostor or you're a really bad actor. Either way, you're not going to be Alfred."

"Hmmm," A hum to fill the silence. America rolled his head to untangle a nick on his neck, "I am neither because I am America of another world. And in my world, we call each other in our nation name even in peace, that's just our norm. Does that make sense? With all this, talking about my world and your world. Because believe me, we are from separate realities." A pause and then America added, "Would you believe me if I tell you that I jump worlds to see you?"

"Did I die on your realm?" Arthur humored. America laugh, "No. I just want to see a version of you that loves a version of me."

"How are you so sure that I love you here?"

America's shoulders slump. "You don't?"

It was Arthur's turn to laugh again, this time with a little bit of life, although deflating as he goes on, "Of course, I do. I'd been denying for so long, it gets ridiculously tiring. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. For all I know, Alfred is right and you're a dangerous faker who would take over the world by impersonating him."

"But do you believe me? Do you believe that I jumped worlds?"

Arthur removes his arms from his eyes and sees the blueness of the sky, the same shade of hue that is in Alfred's eyes—in this doppelganger's eyes.

"I don't know." Arthur sighed, "I guess, it's not unheard of. We, ourselves, are something out of the context of human facts. I mean how did we get to be nations? So, I guess, parallel worlds are not much of a shocker to me."

"Oh good then." America smiled before pulling Arthur so suddenly into a soft kiss, lips upon lips, green eyes wide in shock and blue hidden behind lids.

Alfred exploded. "WHAT THE HELL."

X

Alfred ruffled his hair in frustration before letting out a deep sigh.

This sucks.

The day had begun in the wrong side of the horizon. Everything seems to be out to get him. He insulted Arthur's scones even though he would love to eat them but no, he just have to open his big mouth! And then this stupid look alike showed up and screwed him over.

He wants to kick himself. Why the fuck did he said that he doesn't love Arthur in front of Arthur? His brother's going to kill him—castrate him and feed to his pet bear.

Or if Matthew's going to be super cruel, he would lecture him for straight hours until he is satisfied and make him feel guiltier even more.

"I need to find Arthur and apologize." Alfred muttered, hurrying out his room and directly running into Francis.

"Mon cher!" The French looked startled to see him, confusion flitting in his eyes, "What are you doing here? Aren't you with mon petit lapin outside? I just saw you…?"

"What part of the outside did you see me?" Alfred asked, an urgency in his voice. Francis tilts his head, blinking owlishly, "Oh! It must have been sweet Mathieu that I had seen with the Englishman."

"Francis. Where?"

"Oh, in the garden out front. I mistook Mathieu for you. Silly me." The French laughs, waving a hand, "Is Mathieu in love with Arthur? He looks at Arthur the way you—"

Alfred doesn't hear the rest of his sentence as he darts away towards the direction of Arthur, feet stomping hard on the polish floor of the hotel, heart ramming in his chest.

Does that impersonator intend to fucking mess with him? Goddammit!

Pushing people away from his path, he blindly runs through the crowd with the same sinking feeling he had felt when Arthur gave him that blank look. He curses himself when he almost crashes into the heavy glass doors.

"Al!"

He doesn't turn around at the voice of his brother—he doesn't stop for anything, not even when Matthew continued calling out to him. He continued on his search. It wasn't hard to spot what he was looking for the moment he was out the building. Only Arthur likes to occupy the front garden. So outside, he immediately noticed the two figures sitting just far enough from his earshot.

They seem to be talking about something. Alfred couldn't help but frown when Arthur laughs at whatever that doppelganger had said. As he gets closer, the voice became clearer.

And then he heard, "Oh good then", before America pulled Arthur close and kissed him right on the mouth.

For a moment, everything was silent. The soft footsteps that had been following him since he had gotten out the building stops. Everything was at a standstill for a mere frozen second, even his heartbeat.

Alfred had done terrible things in his life—very, very terrible things. He could actually make a list for anyone who asks about his regrets. And hurting Arthur in any form or way is always going to be the very top on that rather long list. He knew he had done awful, awful things and sometimes he dreams of all those empty eyes that stare at him when he had hurt them—Arthur's, Kiku's, and even Antonio's. He knew that somewhere in his life, there would come a time when karma strikes him. It's not even a matter of if. No, he never believes in 'if', always 'when'.

Today, karma must be laughing his ass off at him.

"Al… what…"

"WHAT THE HELL." Rage bubbled out of his lips, his fist tingling at the sudden sensation of skin hitting skin in a hard punch when he pulled on his look alike.

"Alfred! What the… what the bloody hell?" Arthur shrieked but he doesn't register his voice. He was only focus on the fake America who looked at him with a stony façade. America wiped the blood from his cut lips, spitting away the red liquid.

Alfred stalked towards him, ready to punch again but Matthew pulled on him, "Al! Calm down! What the hell is going on? He looks like you! I'm freaking out, eh!"

"Let me go, bro! Dammit!"

"Why would I let you go? You're going to kill him!"

"I just punch him!"

"Yes! You fucking punch him with your incredulous strength, Al."

"DAMMIT, MATTHE WILLIAMS! LET ME GO SO I CAN FUCKING MURDER THIS MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Enough!" Arthur shouted, "Just enough. You," The Brit turned to America, "Why did you kiss me?! Are you mad? We were just bloody talking and then you kiss me! Out of the blue! Why? And you!"

Arthur walked briskly to Alfred and poke him in the chest for every word he spoke, "You. Don't. Have. The. Right. To. Punch. Anyone. In. The. Face!"

"He was kissing you!"

"Especially those who are kissing me!" He shrieked, "What if I was truly enjoying a bloody kiss and you come around and fucking sucker punch the guy?"

"But I…"

"No buts, Alfred. I'm tired of your reckless behaviour. If you can, Matthew lad, would you be nice enough to escort your brother out of my vicinity?"

"I'm not leaving you with that guy! Who knows what he might do!" Alfred protested, frowning at Arthur's attitude. But the Brit only glared at him and took the other American by the arm and dragged him away. "If he does anything, I would tell you 'I told you so'. Damn Brits."

"Al," At the call, Alfred turns towards his confused brother, "Who was that? And why is Arthur behaving like that?" At that comment, violet eyes narrowed, "Did you do something stupid again?"

"I didn't do anything stupid!" Alfred immediately defended causing Matthew to be even more skeptical, "Anyway! That guy… he told me he was from another world… that's he is me from that world… and that he's going to chase Artie."

Alfred frowned even more at that. Matthew tilts his head, "Couldn't all of this just be a prank?"

"I thought so then. But I also thought it's either you're the culprit or Francis."

"But?"

"But you're here. And Francis is in the building, and unless he is super fast, then he speed pass me and pretended to be me and…" Blue eyes darken at the memory, "Kiss Artie."

Matthew doesn't speak for a minute or so, scrutinizing his brother's expression and recalling the earlier events. He worried his lips as he think about everything thoroughly before settling into a concerned look, "Al… what if he is telling the truth? That he really is from another world same as ours? What if he's from an alternate universe? You said he's here to chase Arthur. What if he's here to do that because he mess up his chance in his world and lose Arthur for good and now he comes here to redo his mistakes?"

Alfred scrunches his face at the questions thrown at him, all of which are painful to hear because it means that in wherever his counterpart came from, he had utterly made an asshole of himself and never gotten together with the Arthur of that world with no possible chances coming up anymore. It means that in another world, he lost Arthur and he became so desperate as to seek another one to be with.

It means they were never meant to be.

Alfred caught Matthew's eyes and felt himself wither at the stare. Alfred knew he had done terrible things in life—awful bad things. And hurting Arthur in any form or way is always going to be the very top on that rather long list. He just never thought it would come to a messy situation like this where he was an even bigger jerk in another world to end up screwing so badly.

"He's going to steal Artie away from me."

In that very moment, every terrible things he ever said and did to Arthur came flashing back before his eyes and not for the first time in his eternal life he wondered what is wrong with him.

TBC…

I never thought I'd get this far. I'm sooooooooooo ecstatic about your reviews, favorites, and follows! I was like whoa, this was actually read and reviewed. I wonder why.

I cut back on the angst a bit. I am in a deliriously happy mode with your responses. Aaannddd because I just received news I'm going to be travelling to another country soon. *wink wink*

And I would just warn you that you might end up hating me.

Also, drop a review. Reviews make me happy and would prevent you from hating me.

Also, drop by to read my other fics. Shameless is shameless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** When Worlds Collide

 **Pairing:** USUK

 **Summary:** "If you don't love England much," America said quietly, with a quiver, yet awfully honest and desperate and in love, "Can I take your place?"

 **Note:** Angst. Angst everywhere.

Bubble Thought: I am so sorry for the late update. I was in a history quiz bowl competition and we were in Vigan for like one week. But here is the update!

X

 _2016, World B_

"You sleep on the couch."

America observed Arthur's tensed body, the contours of his back so familiar to him. How many years was it again with him just staring at his back? Decades, right? He bets anyone in the world he could tell you the little changes in the Brit's mood with just a little twist, a little twitch, a little wrack of his back.

"You're angry."

There are tensions building up again in his shoulders, America noted. Arthur turned towards him with a frown alongside his infamous green glare. And even in Arthur's angry twisted expression—so close to crying yet still trying to be so strong—America found him beautiful.

"Of course I am angry! I am downright mad." Arthur barked, "Why did you kiss me?!"

"Your Alfred was there, you know. He was watching us."

"So? And he is not _my_ Alfred, dammit."

"He…" Blue eyes shadowed, downcast. America watches the wooden floor for a minute. It was carpeted in red, like the hue England once love in his plundering days, like the crimson silk ribbon England had given him back in his colonial years, like the color England wore on that rainy day. Whichever way he was looking, it would always lead him back to England—or better yet, his memories of England.

He loves England. So, so much.

 _That's why I…_

America steadfastly met Arthur's gaze, "He doesn't love you."

Arthur staggered at the American's words. His voice is so alike with Alfred that it seems like he was being told once more the stupid bitter sour truth. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. 'Keep a stiff upper lip', that was the British way, wasn't it? Keep a stiff upper lip.

"I know." He started, "You don't have to repeat it. The twat made it clear just awhile ago, didn't he?"

"Arthur." America tested the name, treading, "I love you. I do. I would do anything in my power to keep you happy. I would. I—"

"You're tired." Arthur looked away, "Your name is America, was it? You should go to sleep, America."

"Will you look at me? Again?"

"It's nearing six in the evening. I'll wake you up to bring you supper." Arthur refused to look at the man, keeping his back facing towards the American. There were few and far in between situations when he was afraid because he wasn't one for fear. The most prominent one out of everything was before Alfred left him. He was so scared of Alfred leaving him, he fought for him with all his might but still, the nightmare embodied itself in the victory of his former colony.

And at this very moment, Arthur is terrified. America, the nation claiming to be from another world, is telling him things he wanted to hear from Alfred for so long. And he is so, so afraid that if he let his guard down, he would believe America—forced himself to be deluded by this sliver of a chance to being love back. Even if it's a desperate brokenhearted lookalike from someplace else.

"Arthur." America called out weakly, a quiver in his voice, "Don't… don't turn your back at me. Don't leave me. Please. I would… I would do anything. So, stay. Stay. Even if I am not your America, your Alfred. Stay… just this once again, choose me. Choose me over anyone else."

"I am not your England, America." Quietly, the voice of Arthur flitted in the room. "I cannot replace your England."

Arthur thought the conversation has finally died and America had fallen asleep again but when he heard a sigh come from the American, he knew there was so much more.

"After the biggest fight England and I have… when all things were said and done… when I saw the tragic look of England, I tried to make it better between us again." America broke the silence with his whisper, "I really tried. I became someone he could be proud of. More mature. More attentive. And I was always there for him since because I want to fix my mess, because I love him. I was always there for England, and England?"

The pathetic laugh America gave made Arthur wince at its fakeness but it was all it took for him to look at America again and saw the haunted look he sports, all the mistakes he made, all his regrets flashing in his eyes quite wretchedly, "He chose Japan."

X

 _2054, World A_

"England?" Japan softly knocks on his lover's hotel room. He heard a quiet groan come from the inside before a hoarse voice answered him, "Yes, love?"

"You missed the meeting again. I brought you notes."

The door opens to a disheveled-looking gentleman. Japan frowned at his appearance, hurriedly taking his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the drool on the corner of the Brit's mouth.

"You look like…"

"A shit?" England continued with a laugh. Japan nodded solemnly, "Is it about America-san?"

England nodded his head, "I was the one to last saw him before he disappeared."

"Do you feel guilty?"

"About what?"

"About us?"

"Why would I feel guilty about us, darling?" England gaped at the Japanese nation, shock at hearing him say that, after all these years. Japan smiled sadly, "Because it destroyed America-san."

Green eyes softened at the vulnerable form of his lover. He pulled the smaller man into his arms, enveloping him in his warmth, "I love you, Japan."

Japan closes his eyes, nuzzling into the embrace. Such warmth, such tenderness. This affection should have been for America. And yet, here he was in his place instead. Is he a bad guy?

He wasn't supposed to fall for England in the first place.

And yet, he did.

"Aishitteru. Aishitteru, anata."

X

 _2016, World B_

"No! Absolutely not." Arthur barked once more.

The morning offers an awkward atmosphere the moment Arthur opens his eyes and saw America's sleeping face inches away from him. After America's little speech, he guiltily turned away from the man and made his way to his bed and settled into a slumber that forced him away from the current messy reality.

He wondered if America had eaten anything the whole time he slept or if he just waited long enough for him to still in his sleep to sneak into his bed, foregoing eating altogether. The thought made him immensely remorseful at his doing so he doesn't push the American away and let him sleep as much. By the time he was out the shower, America had woken up and demanded to accompany him to the meeting.

"It is not like you can keep me a secret here, Arthur. The Alfred of this world is reckless and he won't hesitate in barging in here and dragging me out for the whole world to see." America reasoned, smiling pleasantly at the cornered nation. Arthur huffed, "I am not trying to keep you as a secret. I just want a normal, non-chaotic meeting. With you being there, it would be impossible."

"I want to be by your side."

"America, please don't do that, you know how much I—"

"Please."

Arthur sighs tiredly. What a stubborn nation this America is, so similar to his Alfred. Well, he guessed it wasn't really a surprise.

"Fine."

The town shines with million of lights. Well, Arthur thought, that was what America's eyes look right now. God, he is being a romantic again.

"But on one condition. Do not fight with Alfred." He warned, green eyes glaring. America nodded enthusiastically, leaping from his seat on the bed and heading to the shower, "I will not! I promise. Please wait for me as I get ready."

Arthur traced America's silhouette until he disappeared behind the door.

"I will get you something to wear, okay? I'll be back."

X

There was a rapid succession of knocks on his door that woke Alfred up with a start. Opening it, he found a pair of bushy brows accompanying green eyes along with a deep-seated frown. Arthur.

"What do you want, Iggy? It's too early!" He whined. It wasn't after a second or so that he finally realized what he did or said. Arthur raised a brow at the sudden twist of his expression before sighing, "Can I borrow a pair of clothes?"

"What for?" Alfred's eyes narrowed considerably, blue eyes gleaming in dark understanding, frown blooming, "For him? Ha. Okay. Let me get him one."

"Alfred, please." His call was weak, almost meek, "Don't fight with him."

"Oh?" The American turned harshly away, "What else do you want? For me to give him my whole identity? Replace me? What else?"

"Alfred," Disapproving eyes made the younger nation swallow, skin prickling, heart sinking, "I just want you to get along with him. It is a mess enough with him around, I don't need you acting like a petulant child."

Alfred doesn't say anything. And it was quiet for a handful of minutes. And even when the American handed the clothes, there were no words exchange after that. Arthur doesn't break it.

But Alfred wished he did. Oh, how he wished he did.

X

Arthur doesn't really know what lies ahead beyond the door. America is beside him, a tight hold on his hand. He doesn't shake the grip anymore—too strong, too desperate, and he was weak against those things (reminds him of his feelings and of his pining).

"We aren't late," Arthur started, "But not as early as I always come. There's still half an hour before the meeting start but there are many countries already inside. Do you still want to continue?"

America doesn't even need a heartbeat to say, "I do."

So Arthur opened the door and waited for the ruckus to start, the beginning of silence, the transition of quietness to gasps to pointing fingers, the utter chaos. He closed his eyes but there was none that came.

He peeks.

Alfred was standing in front of all the people, "So as I was saying, there is a person that looks like me and he is with Artie. As you see, I am telling the truth. I had briefed you with it and Matthew is a reliable person."

There are variety of colored eyes staring in disbelief at their direction—many gaping, some just sitting quietly, but mostly looking. Amongst those people was Alfred, nonchalant in his stance, waving uncaringly at them as if to showcase his point.

"You…" Elizabeta stood from her seat, idly walking towards America, "Are you really from another world?"

America smiled kindly, the shadows of his past clinging to the curves making him look much older than Alfred, "I am. I am sorry for my sudden presence. This must be too much for all of you but I am Alfred's counterpart in another universe. My name's America."

The Hungarian tilts her head to the side, eyes roaming down America's face to his shoulder to his arms and stopping so noticeably to their link hands. Something in the greens of the woman's eyes made Arthur's inside twist—something sad, almost.

"Why'd you come here?"

Arthur shuts his eyes tightly, grip tightening around America's. He's still afraid of everything that comes out from the man's lips—such lullabies, such promises, things that he dreamt of, always yearning; and yet never, ever coming to life. Things that he only hears from books and movies—and old lovers that once loved him. And never from Alfred.

"He came to get Artie."

It wasn't America who answered—the familiar recklessness and liberty that always plagued Alfred's speeches came running towards his ears.

America shifted, "That's right."

He opens his eyes again to see weary blues staring down at him, "I came to get Arthur. Because I love him. And,"

A pause. Blues to blues.

"Because you don't."

Alfred bristled at the smiling blue eyes of America, amused and smug. He knew what the other was doing, awfully so. And yet he couldn't move a muscle to disagree.

Such pride.

"Let's start the meeting."

Alfred turns towards Arthur. Arthur with the sad smile. Arthur with the sad green eyes. Arthur with the sad expression. Sad Arthur. Lonely Arthur. Heartbroken Arthur.

That's right.

Alfred knew what Arthur wanted to hear. He knew Arthur loves him even through the man's lies. He knew its extent and its depth, even its width or its height. His brother said Arthur's love is bountiful.

He said it was limitless.

He wonders who is right or wrong between them both. Because if his counterpart is here to take Arthur away then that means only one thing, Arthur's love is only bountiful but not limitless.

It can dry out from careless use.

"Arthur… I," He called out loudly, interrupting Ludwig's greetings. Arthur was sitting next to France, America on his right—he was looking at him in surprise at the sudden call.

"Yes?" He answered over Ludwig's groan of disapproval.

"I…"

"There's a meeting, Alfred. Whatever you are going to say, it can wait."

 _I love you._

"Yeah…" Defeated, he returns to his seat, "It can wait… probably."

 _I love you._

It is painful.

America concluded in his mind. Now that he is a bystander to the romance of a different him and a different England, he can see how painful it is just by watching them both.

Arthur is in love with Alfred. And Alfred is undoubtedly in love with Arthur too. But he knew in his own experience that no matter how much you two love each other, it isn't enough.

It isn't good to love someone without saying something. It isn't good being lax just because you know the one you love loves you back. Because love isn't as permanent as everyone thought it is. Love is always shifting. And because it is shifting, anything can come up—doubts, especially.

What is not yours can fly away in the blink of an eye.

Looking at them both, distance separating them as easily as their denials do, America couldn't help but frown at his own selfishness. It was his own undoing at the very beginning. It might be the undoing of Alfred too—but doubled.

The meeting passed by with the same messy things. It wasn't as different as he thought it was—too similar, like he was in a dream, in his own memories, such awful nostalgia building too high in his chest.

America winces at the sudden immense pain building up in both his chest and wrist. He clutches his right wrist, the cloth of the long sleeve Arthur lent him crumpling under the pressure of his grip.

"America, are you okay?"

He turns to Arthur's worried face, smiled, letting his tight grip on his limb go, and stood up, "Just remembering things. Where do you want to eat?"

"I… uh, made my lunch. But if you want to eat somewhere, it's okay."

"Scones?"

"Yes."

"May I share it with you?"

He missed the taste of the burnt cotton drily sliding down his throat. The amount he had eaten yesterday wasn't enough to quell his thirst for the English nation.

Arthur flushed delicately, the pink running so dustily upon his cheeks, "W-well, it can't be helped."

Alfred had never seen Arthur look so happy. Envy crawled up his throat, burns his tongue. He was supposed to be making Arthur happy, not someone from an alternate universe. The green was petulant, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Artie!" He called out. Arthur looked at him with lesser amount of joy and it almost made him stop.

"What?"

"Do you want to eat out?"

"I'm sorry. I have plans with America."

The reply is heavier on his shoulder than it supposed it should be. Alfred smiled, "It's okay! The hero like me can share food with an impostor like him!"

"Tsk." America peered with annoyance, "I hate sharing. Especially, England."

Arthur sighed in exhaustion. The exchange between the two seems to always end up with a scuffle or mutual irritation from both ends.

"Let's just go." He said. The two jolted at the heavy stomps of Arthur, quickly running after. America taking a hold of the Brit's hand and Alfred trying to pry the hand off and ending up holding unto the same hand America is grasping.

"Let my hand go, you bloody idiots! We're looking like fools!" Arthur hissed but the Americans ignored his request.

"Where do you want to eat, Arthur?" America asked eagerly, his eyes sparkling, attention only on Arthur. Alfred huffed, "Arthur would like to eat in the garden in front of course!"

"I don't think I was asking your opinion."

"Yeah, well, you're stupid!"

"You're the stupid one for saying that your counterpart in another universe is stupid, stupid."

"I'm not stupid! I'm a hero! You, on the other hand, are aa pretentious stealing villain, pig-faced!"

"I look like you!"

"Nuh-uh! I'm more handsome than you. You're ugly!"

"At least, I slept with Arthur last night!"

"WHAT?" Alfred looked betrayed, "Artie? Is this true?"

Arthur snappily took his hands, "Beside each other not with, you git. So no, Alfred, he did not sleep with me. Now, I would like to eat in the garden,"

At this, Alfred looked smug.

"And if any of you disturb my supposed to be peaceful lunch, I will personally see to it that you get miserable! And you know what? You can eat with each other!"

Arthur stormed off after finishing his sentence with a livid glare leaving the two guilty nations behind.

"This is your fault!" Alfred growled. America looked at the disappearing form of Arthur before turning to the angry American, "Idiot."

"I'm not an idiot!"

"Well, you're acting like one. Please, just stop, okay? You're hurting Arthur too much." Somberness plagued the words of America, a shade of truthfulness on his eyes.

Alfred stopped at his ranting, failing to make another word. He doesn't say anything for a second, collecting his thoughts and then he said, "I know, okay? I know how much I'm hurting him! Dammit, you don't have to rub it on my face."

"If you knew, then don't continue it anymore. I can't… I can't bear to see him hurting anymore…" He said, "When you show him how much you don't love him, he withers away. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"I'm not you!" Alfred replied, "I don't do mistakes."

"That's what I told myself too. I don't do mistakes. Guess what?" A pause, "Everyone does."

"Whatever." Alfred said, going towards Arthur's direction. America stared at the broad back of the American nation with a grit of his teeth before looking at his wrist and sees it disappearing briefly, unstable in its appearance.

"Damn. I never thought I have a time limit."

 **TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** When Worlds Collide

 **Pairing:** USUK

 **Summary:** "If you don't love England much," America said quietly, with a quiver, yet awfully honest and desperate and in love, "Can I take your place?"

 **Note:** Angst. Angst everywhere.

X

 _2054, World A_

 _Hey… Iggy…_

"England?" Canada asked softly upon seeing the slumped nation sitting on the windowsill. England languidly let his eyes meet the Canadian's eyes, green a telling sign, violet a sad sorrow.

"Do you think I'm a bad person, Canada?" England queried as softly as Canada did. He breathes gently, waiting. Canada glides to him, a small frown delicately placed on his lips, brows furrowed, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I am happy." He answered vaguely and not even waiting for Canada's probing, he proceeded, shoulders slouching, "America is not here. He is missing. Or hiding. Or running away. I don't know what's going on with America and yet I am happy. I should be scared. I should be sad. I _am_ worried and yet I am happy because it is not my lover who had gone missing. Does that make me a bad person?"

 _I bought a golden ring with a jewel embedded to it today with Japan._

Canada gave a small pained smile, one that made England looked away in shame. It was rare for England to be so honest with himself. Rarer to open up. And here he was, saying things that should have made Canada livid. Yet, it only made him sad because he knew England's history with America. It wasn't the most beautiful one but it was special—so special. And tragic—too tragic.

"Yes." He said after a while, "But I cannot blame you, England. America is not the one you love most anymore. I know that as much."

"I loved America." England uttered quietly just to remind Canada that he did. But the past tense makes it so that he had been over it for quite a period now. Thirty years is not a long time ago for a nation. It would seem like it was just a second since. Those moments were fleeting but he loved him. He loved him for a really, really long time. And then he stopped. He stopped for thirty short years and counting.

 _It was the color of your eyes—sweet, loving, strong and green._

"I know."

It wasn't the best conversation they had but it was moments like this that Canada treasures most. It's just like old time—like talking pains, like taking care of a drunken man left by the one he loved most, like crying out secrets, like feeling the feelings for the very first time in a long while after being so numb.

Just like old times.

 _I bought it with Japan. So he can give it to you for your ninth anniversary. It was the same ring I returned to the same store the day you admitted that it wasn't love anymore._

X

 _2016, World B_

America doesn't show up to the meeting again much to Arthur's surprise and Alfred's delight. It still doesn't get any less messy or quieter, just lonelier for Arthur.

"Art…"

He doesn't mean to remain distracted by the sudden absence of the other Alfred but he does. It gets in his skin, crawling in his system—a reminder, heavy in its weight, that no matter who America is or what universe he came from, he would always, always suddenly disappear from his side like a pet bird who loves the sky more than its golden cage.

"…thur…"

Arthur sighed, looking down, staring uncomprehendingly at his notes.

"…Ar…ur…"

Where could that git be?

"ARTHUR!"

He jolted, almost falling off his chair. Embarrassedly, he stared up, searching the source of the shout and finding the whole world staring back at him. He cleared his throat dignifiedly, "What?"

"It's your turn to present now." Ludwig said in annoyance, glaring.

"Ah yes, yes. I apologize for my distractedness." Arthur walked towards the little podium in front with as much nonchalance he could muster and started his presentation on poverty reduction.

Alfred stared intently at Arthur, feeling something building up within him. Fear. He is afraid. Awfully so. And it all started yesterday. There's something different about this fear that is familiar. It wasn't the same kind of fear he feels with horror movies—something too dreadful to forget, too different to be petty.

As a hero, he doesn't need fear—doesn't feel fear. Well, most of the time. But sometimes he too felt afraid. Sometimes, he too gets scared. Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night trembling, cover in cold sweat.

All of which leads to Arthur.

Arthur would always be the source of his fear. Not his whole person, per say. Just the premonition that something might happen to Arthur and that he may not be able to do anything anymore.

The familiarity of the stench of dread makes him uncomfortable. The last time he felt this way was when he almost lost Arthur from the Blitz.

"Oi, Alfred, are you even bloody listening to me?" Alfred looked at Arthur with the eyes of a sad man, taking Arthur by surprise. Green eyes immediately melded into concern and confusion, "Why are you looking at me like you lost someone?"

"Let's take a break." Alfred announced, standing up, looking away from the Brit, "We'll continue the meeting tomorrow."

"What?" Ludwig shouted indignantly, "The meeting isn't finish yet! We still have three hours left! Don't just go deciding the time of dismissal whenever you felt like it! We have a strict schedule to follow!"

"I'm not even finish with my report. Don't tell me you're bored?!" He brushed off the Brit's accusing finger, turning towards the rest instead, vehemently ignoring Ludwig's glare and the curious stares of the other nations, "Aren't you all tired or what?" With a clear of his throat, he beamed them a gleaming smile, all hero glitters and American flag, "Because I sure am! I mean who even listen to this old man? HAHA! I'mma get the hell outta here!"

"You bloody American!"

He ignores the calls and the shouts, running out the door before anyone could jump in his way. He runs like his life depended on it, searching, seeking. He doesn't take notice of the changing surrounding, doesn't stop to comprehend where he is going. The only thing he knew is that he is afraid. Very. Awfully. Tragically.

"YOU!" He shouted when he sees America, sitting casually on one of the bench of the rooftop, eyes hidden behind a slung arm, form nearly hidden by the shade of the tree near him. America gave him a startled look, as if he was brought out from a dream, still disheveled from the transition of reverie to reality.

"Alfred…?" He spoke as if unsure, "What are you doing here? There are still hours until the end of the meeting, right?"

"Tell me." Alfred marched. America watched as the distance between them get smaller and smaller, "Tell you what?"

"Tell me about England. Your England. Tell me what happened." Alfred said when he is a ruler away from him, blue eyes shining so darkly with determination, "Tell me the truth. What happened between you and England to make you come here, to break the law of time and space. Because I cannot lose Arthur. Not again. Not ever. Especially, not to my pathetic self from some other universe."

America smiled, "What made you like this?"

"I'm afraid."

Alfred doesn't need to elaborate because America would understand the fear of losing the Brit. He doesn't need to tell him that in just a day, he made Arthur openly attached to him and how it made him terrified at such concept. He doesn't need to. America knew how strong the blow is—like a gut punch by someone with a physical strength stronger than him.

"England and I…"

 _Hey, America._

The sky is blue and happy, a deep contrast to his turbulent memories. America pasted a small smile, giving a loud sigh, "God! This is making me sappy."

"Will you just get on with it?" Alfred pestered. America laughed a little before the silence settled for a long pause, then he broke it the way he broke things, "England and I… we fuck you know. It started as a desperate deviation during the great war. It was me who started it. Boy did we fuck like we are high on aphrodisiac."

"But I guess you know that too, Alfred, right?" America says, chancing a glance and catching a blushing stare from his companion. He blinks, "You and England…? Didn't you two?"

Alfred shook his head, "No! God no! I mean… I tried to initiate it during the war but…"

"But what?"

"We were always busy. He was always in charge of the fluvial wars. And I'm always on land. So it was rare for us to really be together in a room alone."

"That's sad." America commented idly, earning a glare from Alfred, "But I guess our realities aren't exactly the carbon copy of each other. And I guess having things innocent between the two of you is better. Much, much better."

"Why do you think that?" Alfred asked.

"If I hadn't started such deviation… would it turn out okay between England and I?"

"No. We are not." Alfred said, "We are not okay even without that kind of start. I think the universe is spitting on us for leaving our Arthur a long time ago. This kind of karma sucks…"

America chuckles at his words, briefly amused by the thought of karma. It had always been a sharp biter, a pain in the ass, a stupid deserving consequence specially delivered to him.

"I broke England." America finally said after the tasteless thought passed his mind, conjuring all his courage in pouring something out of his system, things he never wanted to hear or admit for a long time, "And I don't mean just his heart."

America's eyes lowered to the ground, "I broke England's heart, yes. But I still wasn't satisfied with just that so I destroyed him. I destroyed him by constantly sleeping with him, fucking him when he tried to move on. I destroyed him by dangling hope over his head and when he was so close to reaching it, pulling it away heartlessly. Because I was an idiot. I was sad. I was vengeful. I was an arrogant asshole. Most of all, I was a fool."

"England… England _loved_ me. He had always loved me. And I did too. I still do. But for a long time—for a really, really long time, I was under the impression that England would only ever love me as a brother. What a great way to change that kind of love? Fuck him. Fuck him senseless until he sees you like the man you told yourself you are."

 _Look at the blue sky, America. Look at it when I'm away._

"He gave me a million chances to prove myself that I am a worthy man. I wasted them all for the wrong reasons and for all the wrong deeds. Always the awful things. Always the terrible things. Always hurting him."

 _At day, I would be admiring it because it reminds me of the blue of your eyes. I love the way that even if I am not physically with you, the world would remind me of you. I hope it reminds you too that even with my distance, we are still standing under the same blue sky._

"I thought I have all the chances in the world because England loves me. _Loved_ me. And England would always be there. But he isn't… here with me… anymore. He left me. England… he left me because he doesn't love me anymore. And I… I am stupid… I am foolish… I am cruel…"

 _At night, I would be wishing, America. I would be placing all my thoughts on the stars that shine tonight. They would be full of my wishes for you, America. And things I don't have the courage to say._

"England deserved so much better than me. He does." Slowly—so slowly—the shadows that hide in the silence of their surrounding crept themselves back to blue eyes and coat the American's little pathetic laugh, "But when it's too late, I realized that it would not make me weak if I admit I love him too—that Russia or China won't take my place as a superpower if I just fucking admit to myself that I have feelings for England too. That it wasn't a game anymore. That I love England much longer than I originally thought I did. But I was late… I was too late… And England wouldn't always be there waiting for me. He wouldn't. Not anymore. So if.. if you don't…"

 _Hey, love, look at the sky._

"If you don't love England much," America said quietly, with a quiver, yet awfully honest and desperate and in love, "Can I take your place?"

"No. Of course not." Alfred replied with a snap, lacking the usual bite he throws to his counterpart, expression the canvas of blue devils, "I won't. Not to you. Or anyone else. Not ever. I love Arthur as much as you love your England. Even more."

America made another quiet chuckle, shaking his head, "I know. From the start, I know."

"Is… that true?"

Alfred craned his head and sees Arthur coming out of his hiding place behind a tree not too far away from them.

 _Are you looking?_

X

"That stupid little shit!" Arthur cursed as he stormed out the room, following the trail of Alfred. He follows him to the roof, watching the blonde run aimlessly as if possessed by something.

It was hard catching up to Alfred but seeing him run up the flight of stairs with the stamina of a relentless lion about to catch its prey, without a consciousness to slow down, it wasn't hard figuring out where Alfred would ended up at.

He ended up getting to the roof first because of the elevator. But it wasn't long before Alfred opened the door with a loud slam making him jump into hiding by instinct. That's when he heard Alfred's shout, demanding in his tone even with just one word.

"YOU!"

But after the first shout, everything was quiet, muffled by the wind and the rustles of the trees and plants of the rooftop garden.

He peeks from his hiding, seeing Alfred and America talking, the latter laughing without humor, "What the hell are they talking about?"

He tiptoed towards the two, slowly creeping until he was a meter away from them.

"I broke England. And I don't mean just his heart."

Arthur's eyes widen at that. It was an honest confession from a regretful man. And somehow, even with all the bad things America described he did, his heart still ached for him. Maybe, it was the love he has for Alfred that made him empathetic towards the other American. Maybe, it was the acknowledgement that for a long period their feelings remained unreturned. Maybe, it was just finding comfort that he wasn't the only one getting hurt.

It was a feast of complicated emotions, one after the other. Too much of it and he thinks he will end up dead.

"If you don't love England much, can I take your place?" Arthur shakes himself from the drowning feeling, returning to conscious mind at just the right timing.

"No. Of course not."

It was a strange feeling.

"I won't. Not to you. Or anyone else. Not ever."

A warm feeling—almost hot in its sudden placement within his chest.

"I love Arthur as much as you love your England. Even more."

For the first time in the longest of time, Arthur felt like crying from an overwhelming emotion other than pain and sadness and helplessness. It was a strange feeling. A warm feeling. A nice beautiful feeling.

"I know. From the start, I know."

"Is… that true?"

He caught the attention of the two, Alfred paling at the realization that Arthur heard his sappiness.

"How long have you been there, Arthur?"

"Is it true, Alfred? Is it true what you said? That you love me?" Steadfastly, he took the reign of the conversation, keeping it on track and unavoidable. Alfred looks at him in panic, scrambling for words, speechless.

"Yes." America answered when he sees that Alfred could only do is squeak stupidly, "I lied that Alfred doesn't love you. Because I am a desperate man. I am desperate for you. But the truth is, Arthur, no matter who I am, no matter where I am, and no matter what universe I am at, I and all the Americas the universe hold will always, always be in love with you."

A tear drops down Arthur's cheek like a looming foreshadow, green eyes filling up with silver pins that are used to being spilled for bad reasons. Alfred snapped out of his stupor at the sight of a crying Arthur.

"Arthur." Alfred walked towards him, closing the distance, stopping in front of the crying man, "What America said is true. That no matter what universe I am, all of me will always love you. But most of those Americas and most of those Alfreds, we are cruel. Immature. Foolish. We will always hurt you in some ways, in some time, in some places. We will always ruin you. And break your heart. We will always be that one man that doesn't deserve you but is stupid enough to love you and yearn for you and have the gall to think we deserve you. We will always be that man that is scared of honesty; the man that will always think that feelings make you weaker. Maybe some of us aren't as bad as the two Americas in front of you. And they are lucky to be like that. But in front of you, I am not one of the lucky few of a better version of myself. I am not good enough for you. But I am still helplessly, irrevocably, unchangeably in love with you."

If only America was as honest as Alfred then maybe it wouldn't be as bad for him and his England.

"You stupid fucking shit." Arthur said, stifling a sob behind his hand because of the American's words, "After all these time… after I felt like I wouldn't ever have a chance with you. After you making me feel so insecure in my skin. After every little bad thing. Having only the guts in telling me you love me when you feel threatened. Saying all these silly words. All of which I don't even want to believe I just heard from some uncultured git like you. And even after all of the bad things you did to me. Breaking my heart time and time again…"

Alfred winced, feeling ashamed of himself.

"And even then I still love you."

Arthur sobs, hiding his face with his arms, before stomping his feet at the sight of Alfred, "Don't cry, idiot! I should be the only one crying!"

Alfred doesn't take notice of his own tears until Arthur pointed it out. Being aware of his tears, he defended himself, "This are not tears. They are manly sweats. The sun is pretty glaring today. Climate change is really happening."

"Don't go back to lying, you shite. Keep being that sappy guy." Arthur said through his tears, a smile beginning to blossom. Alfred offered a grin in return, big fat tears rolling down, the ground catching them.

"I'm glad." America said, reminding them his presence, "I didn't take Arthur from you, Alfred. I did not succeed in completely replacing you. It has only been short two days. But I am glad that Tony sent me here. Even though I couldn't be love back by the England here, I am glad that his counterpart loves my counterpart back even with his stupidity."

"America, your hand!" Arthur stated in alarm, rushing towards the fading American, "What's happening?"

"I'm going back to my world." America smiled tiredly, his world-weary eyes staring directly at Arthur, a gleam of love overflowing, shifting the shadow away, "People shouldn't meddle with the law of time and space. It disturbs the flow of time in many alternate universes. And I played with it for longer than a day. This is my game over in this universe. The first and last one I'll ever be able to meddle with. Thank you for everything, Arthur."

"You can stay!" Arthur fretted, "You can stay with us. You don't need to go back to an England that would only hurt you!"

America shook his head, "That is my karma, Arthur, for hurting the one I love. So, Alfred,"

He looks at the other American, his smile shifting to a warning curve, "Don't hurt Arthur anymore. Or else!"

That was the last word America could utter before disappearing in a fit of white hot light. No goodbye's or see you later's. Just a warning—heavy from the many definitions of it.

 _Are you looking?_

 _Of course, I am. I will always do because of you._

X

 _2056, World A_

America woke up where everything is white. He found himself unable to move, body aching, head pounding. He blinks to get rid of the dizziness plaguing his being.

The whiteness in front of him slowly turned into a deep pitch black color for a second before it gradually, steadily filled with color.

He is in a hospital room, somewhere in his world. He couldn't decipher if it's in his house or in someone else's. It felt like he had been gone for far too long from his own world. He felt somehow misplaced.

"America?" Canada's soft voice filled his ears, he craned his neck to the left where it was coming, wincing in pain at his small movement. He cracked a smile to his brother, "Hey, how are you, brother of mine? Long time no see."

The quieter Northern nation paced towards him in a quick succession of steps and determinedly place a smack on his head before pulling him in a quick embrace, "You stupid, stupid American! You had us all worried. Disappearing for a year and a half!"

"Was I that gone for so long?" His voice is so blasé that Canada cannot help himself but smack his brother again. Canada frowned at him, "Yes! You don't remember? You suddenly appeared in a world meeting, stumbling and fainting. That was six months ago. Where did you go?"

America knew of the consequence of universe-hopping. Tony and him studied it for quite some time. He just never thought he would sleep for half a year because of that.

"You won't believe me if I told you," America replied.

"Try me."

"I went to another universe and meet a different England and a different me."

Canada sighed, "Okay, stop joking. Where did you really go?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me." America smiled his small reserved smile he perfected years ago, "But I am telling the truth. Tony sent me there. And I… I tried stealing the England there. His name is Arthur and the year is 2016. Such a familiar year, isn't it?"

"You didn't, did you?" Disbelief is still written all over Canada's face but it melted to sadness as soon as America meet his eyes, failure painted all over the blues. America still retained his small reserved smile, "But I am happy that the England there still loves his own version of America."

"Hey, Canada?"

"Hmmm?"

"Where am I?"

"In my house. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Silence.

"Do you want to see him?"

"Him?"

"England. Do you want to see England?"

America gave a quiet chuckled, "When have I never wanted to see him?"

"You can come in now, England." Canada shouted. The door to his room opened, revealing an awkward Brit standing in the hallway, a fresh bouquet of cut roses in his hand. Canada slipped out the room, pushing England in, and giving them privacy.

"The roses… they're from your garden, right?" America spoke first, cutting the overbearing silence intruding on them so coldly. England nodded, "Yes. I still grow them in my garden."

"They're beautiful."

"Thank you."

America watches England's back as he works in placing the roses carefully and neatly in one of the vases. Petite. Small. Awkward. Everything that he loves about the British nation.

"I love you." He says to break another barrier of ice, catching England off guard. England tensed, "America, you know that I am with…"

"I know. I just want to tell you how I feel. It's been a long time since then."

"I love him, you know that, right?"

"What's that got to do with me confessing?"

"Everything!" England snapped, "It got to do with everything! You, saying that, will ruin everything for me again. I am happy with Japan. I have never been happier with anyone else but him. So don't go around spouting that nonsense again. Especially, not when Japan is around."

America breathed, closing his eyes, before he opens them again and froze the other with his stare, "It is not nonsense, England. My feelings aren't garbage to be thrown carelessly around. I am saying this because it is the honest truth. I am in love with you. And I think I will always be in love with you. There's nothing in this world or other universes that could sway my feelings for you."

"Enough! I don't want to hear that from you." England quivered, "Not from you. Never from you. Where is that honesty when I needed it most, America? Where is that kind and degree of love when I was still hanging on your fingers? You heartlessly tore my heart out of my chest and stomp on it for a million times. And I, a fool, let you. Believing that maybe you would admit to yourself your own feelings you deny for so long. But I am tired, America. I am very tired of you. So please, don't. Just don't."

"If you are tired of me, then why are you here?" America asked. England shook his head sadly, "You are a close ally of mine. A friend. Do not give it another meaning or you'll just hurt yourself."

"I love you, England."

"I don't."

"I know. But I still do. I am sorry about myself. There are all kinds of me out there in some other universe and you just have to be given a bad version of me. You don't deserve an unkind person like me. And I don't deserve a beautiful person like you. It's a stupid warning line that would always remind me of my uselessness. But I couldn't keep lying to myself, England. I love you. I always do. There had been a long time that showed I didn't but I do. And I couldn't show my feelings to you because I am afraid. I am a coward."

"There had been times, after you left and chose Japan, that I wanted to destroy myself. Just let the depression pester and slowly eat me up so I can finally disappear. But every time I see you, I still wonder if we would be okay someday. That maybe, if I waited long enough, you would love me back again. So I waited and waited and waited. It's been thirty years now and we are still not much okay. You still love Japan and I still love you. Nothing change. Except you are wearing the ring Japan gave you." America gestured to England's ring finger where the golden ring sits so comfortably in its place, "You are the most beautiful person I ever met. The kindest. The strongest. Have I ever told you that? Probably not. I never did tell you the things that matter most. So I am going to tell you now that you are the only person I am willing to wait forever if it takes you that long to love me back again."

"Liar. Feelings change." England reproached, "I said that too but look at mine. Don't be ahead of yourself, America. The future is a great unknown."

"The thing is," America replied with that reserved little smile of his, "I don't think mine will ever do. It's a curse, you know. It's karma too. But I don't hate this curse. I never hated not being able to move on from you. Because I love you."

"What if I never returned your feelings, what then?"

"I will continue to love you. It's not that hard, England. You're that much loveable, you see."

England paused, feeling overwhelmed by America's honesty. It was something that he rarely shows to anyone else, opting to show the brighter side of his smile rather than the weight of the world on his shoulder, hiding behind a heroic façade—always jesting away the honest side of him. But as time passes, America became mature and in control of his emotion—jaded even.

It was all his fault for turning the bright American into an adult. He knew that when he broke his heart. It was the saddest moment of his life the moment America entered the vicinity without his obnoxious laugh and shining persona.

But he was in love with someone. And it wasn't America anymore. What could he do about it? Love is a scary thing—infectious and dangerous, random at most. He could never forget the day he lost his love for America. It was something he could never believe after loving the American for two whole centuries and more.

"America," England finally spoke, his voice firm, "Don't wait for me anymore. You'll just continue to hurt yourself."

America looks at England and sees the beautiful eyes he loves so much—it was the color of England, sweet, loving, strong and green. All of which he can never let go.

So America smiled a grin he used to wear so much, his affection spilling out the curve and into his eyes. For a moment, England saw who America was. And for that short second, he was reminded why he fell in love with him in the first place.

"England," America said with the gleaming grin, "I'm still looking. I'm still looking at the sky. And I won't be able to look away from it even when worlds collide."

…Fin…

Review!

I edited a bit because I did the math. America disappeared for a year and a half. And then he was in a coma for six months so that means two years should have passed since then. Little detail but very important nonetheless.

I am very sorry for the late update. Life got me and stuck me with loads and loads of projects and thesis. You know, college. T_T

I am humbled with your responses to my story. Thank you very much for all your wonderful review. I hope you like the ending. Tune in more for other plot bunnies that I would turn into stories! XD.

Also, I know it is bad but I am delighted in making you cry or even sad because that's the point of this fic. Making people sad. XD.

Anyway, don't forget to hit that button! R&R.


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